


Talented

by HorizonTheTransient



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Trinity Continuum
Genre: Action, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorizonTheTransient/pseuds/HorizonTheTransient
Summary: A pulpy, two-fisted tale of adventure and daring-do. No prior knowledge of the Trinity Continuum required.
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Being zip tied and thrown in the trunk of a car wasn't very fun, I decided as the men slammed the trunk closed. The engine started, and I could feel the lurch of the car moving, and I sighed against the duct tape gag they'd put on me, hands already reaching into the deep recesses of my coat. I liked my coat, mainly because of its many pockets and places to keep things. My phone, my keys, and various assorted miscellaney, including a cheap knockoff of a Leatherman multitool.

With only a small amount of wriggling, I was able to get it out of my pocket and open enough to feed the zip tie into the throat of the wire cutter, before squeezing down to snap through the zip tie.

"Alright, step one is complete," I muttered, after I ripped off the duct tape and some of the scruff that grew around my mouth that I wasn't charitable enough to call facial hair. "I can move around. Problem: I'm still in the back of a trunk. And even if I get out... well, they're still right there, and they still have guns, and I don't. Let's see, how thoroughly did they clean out this trunk?"

I pulled out my phone, and turned on the flashlight, looking around.

"Alright, well, I guess it was too much to hope they left a gun in the back," I muttered. "But, hey, a tire iron isn't too bad. Alright, let's stop and  _ think _ about this before I go on and do it." I pondered my next move, then nodded. "Okay, enough thinking."

The car stopped at a red light, and  _ immediately _ I popped open the trunk with the emergency release latch(I made a note to  _ remove  _ said latch beforehand if  _ I _ ever had occasion to kidnap someone in the back of a car), and hopped on top of the car, positioning myself over the passenger seat  _ just _ as the door opened; the kidnapper had good reflexes, but if there was anything cats had to teach us, it was that most predators were entirely unprepared to deal with their prey going  _ up _ .

At any rate, he caught a tire iron to the face right as he stepped out, and I dropped down beside him, crouching below the window and filching his gun while he crumpled, screaming. Thankfully, the safety wasn't on, or maybe it was one of those pistols that simply didn't  _ have _ a safety; either way, I shot him in both kneecaps, because while I wasn't  _ quite _ willing to kill him, I didn't care to trust a single blow to the head to keep him incapacitated. The funny thing about blunt trauma to the head is that, as far as incapacitating people goes, it's actually terrible; either you didn't use enough force, and they're back up within the minute, or you used  _ too much _ force, and now they're dead, with not very much middle ground. Kneecap someone, though, and they're not getting back up until a doctor gets involved.

The driver was, clearly, less even-tempered than his partner, and was slow in drawing his gun. Slow enough that I was able to shoot him through the back of the hand and into the receiver of his gun. He screamed, and a quick scan of my surroundings showed that everyone else at this intersection was understandably spooked, but also nobody else was getting out to shoot at me.

And then I was running, tucking the gun into the inside of my coat and buttoning it up closed as I darted into an alleyway. I pulled my scarf off of my throat, and retied it around my head in a manner that, at least,  _ resembled _ a hijab; if it wasn't a genuine article, then it was because of my poor knotwork, because the scarf, at least, definitely  _ was _ the genuine article. I took off my glasses, replacing them with my sunglasses, and stepped out to the other side of the alley looking like a different enough person. One who was casually walking down the street, checking her phone, and definitely was  _ not _ just involved in a shoot-out a minute ago, what are you talking about?

Admittedly, the disguise was very, very  _ thin _ , but it was better than nothing. I was just lucky they'd gotten me during the rare periods I wore my normal glasses outside, rather than my sunglasses. The sunshine wasn't too great for my eyes.

I shook my head to clear it, pulling out my phone to check where I was. Assholes had gotten me in the parking lot at the grocery store, and while I probably wasn't going to finish that shopping trip, I  _ was _ going to get my car and go home.

That was the plan, anyhow, but then, "buy groceries" had been the plan ten minutes ago, and look how  _ that _ ended up.

"Hey, Joe!"

That wasn't an auspicious sign.

"My name is  _ Rose _ ," I said as a boy about my age jogged up beside me, then fell into lockstep. "Do I know you?"

"Sorry, you looked like someone I knew from high school," the boy said. He was white, with a mild tan that almost bordered on olive, and curly dark brown hair that, somehow, he'd tamed into something aesthetic with a brush and, probably, a  _ lot _ of hair gel. He stood a little bit shorter than me, which I was pleased about; I only stood about six foot two, which honestly wasn't  _ that _ impressive, but I had to take my superiority where I could get it, and nine times out of ten, I could get it here. "Although... You  _ still _ look familiar. Do you remember a Dean Stansfield, from your Creative Writing class?"

"Huh," I said. "That's... not really jogging my memory."

"I was the one who submitted the techno-thriller story about the brain implant."

"Ooooh, you're  _ that _ guy."

"So..." Dean frowned, then winced. "Ah. It occurs to me that I may have been a huge asshole just now."

"You didn't know," I said with a shrug. "But, of course, now you  _ do _ know."

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, nodding. "Anyhow. If you don't remember me, how come you were so willing to believe that  _ I _ knew  _ you? _ "

"Because I'm loud, talkative, distinctive, and oblivious. There are  _ plenty _ of people who know me who I don't know in turn."

"Such as, perhaps, the men who tried to kidnap you a few minutes ago?" Dean asked.

I stumbled for a moment, but recovered without eating pavement.

"I was sent to rescue you," Dean continued. "I was  _ supposed _ to keep you from getting kidnapped in the first place, but... well, you seem to have rescued  _ yourself _ . No harm, no foul?"

"I'll stuff  _ you _ in the trunk of a car, see if you think it's  _ harmless _ ," I said. "...Actually, hold on, why the hell should I trust you in the first place?  _ Who _ sent you, and why on God's green earth did they send a  _ college student _ to handle this grade of shit?"

He wordlessly opened up his coat and flashed a PRT badge at me.

"If this  _ is _ an official PRT-sanctioned thing, how come there aren't, y'know, uniformed officers involved?" I asked.

"Well, because it  _ isn't _ . This is my day off, actually, but saving lives takes precedent. And right now, saving your life means getting you somewhere safe."

"So then  _ who fucking sent you? _ " I asked.

"My partner, who  _ doesn't _ work for the PRT," Dean said.

"...Lead the way, but if I get a whiff of anything squirrely, I've got a tire iron stuffed up my sleeve and I'm not afraid to use it."

* * *

"Dean, I'm getting a whiff of something squirrely," I warned, as he led me to a parked van on the side of the street.

" _ Relax _ , my partner's in there, she'll fill you in," Dean said, opening up the back door as I pulled the gun out of my coat. "There, s- where the  _ fuck _ were you keeping that?"

"In my coat, dumbass," I said, otherwise ignoring him and studying the blonde girl sitting in the driver's seat of the van, which was apparently mounted on some sort of turntable, allowing her to sit there, facing the back door. "Well. I was expecting someone taller."

"And why's  _ that? _ " the blonde girl asked.

"Well, when Dean Stansfield says he was sent to rescue me by his partner who doesn't work for the PRT, my mind immediately jumps to his girlfriend, Glory Girl, who is a superhero who works for New Wave and would reasonably have business doing shit like that," I said. "You're too short to be her, though. And your eyes are the wrong color."

"I thought you were colorblind," Dean said. "Also, put that gun away."

"I'm not fucking  _ monochromatic _ ," I said. "I can damn well tell the difference between blue and green. Also, no. I'm  _ still _ getting a whiff of something squirrely, so you've got about fifteen seconds to start making sense."

" _ I'll _ do the talking, then," the girl said. "I'm Lisa, and both of us belong to the Aeon Society, and-"

"Isn't that an international organization that the PRT is in a perpetual pissing match with over jurisdiction?" I asked. "I feel like a PRT employee being  _ also _ part of the Aeon Society is kind of a conflict of interest."

"Would you shut up and let me finish?" Lisa said, folding her arms. "You're being hunted for-"

"Pardon me, everyone," a man said, strolling out of the mouth of a nearby alleyway. He looked like he'd been designed by a focus group of straight women in their 20s, with sharp features, lightly tanned skin, curly brown hair, and solid stubble you could probably sand the edges of a bookshelf with. "I'm here for Joseph Norman. I need  _ him _ alive, but the rest of you, I'm more flexible on."

I stared at him, unimpressed, and then shot him in the face three times. He stood there, impassively, letting the mushroomed lead drop off his unmarred face.

He darted forward, grabbing me under his arm like a football and shoving Dean to the side like a fucking quarterback, and then lept into the air, landing a second later on the roof of the building on the opposite side of the street.

"Let  _ go _ of me, damnit. You don't even have the right person!" I said, wriggling in his grip as he bolted. Before he could respond, I finally got my arm free enough to slam the end of the tire iron into the back of his knee, sending us stumbling to the ground... well, roof.

I wriggled out of his grasp, slamming the tire iron into his nose, producing a spray of blood and profanity, and making him clutch at his face for a moment. I tried to get to my feet, but he wasn't having any of that, hooking his leg behind mine and pulling me back flat, where he grabbed my wrists and rolled us over, pinning me to the roof, where his nose started to drip blood onto my face.

He was very pissed, now, grabbing my wrists hard enough to hurt, but I kept looking around for something,  _ anything _ , to save me.

I noticed we were on the edge of the roof, and that Dean and Lisa's van had started up, and was chasing after us.

A plan formed instantly, and I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could, before throwing him off of me and the rooftop. He swore as he fell, right into the path of the oncoming van. I winced at how flesh and bone yielded to steel; even if he  _ had _ survived that, he would  _ not _ be getting back up from that.

I pushed that from my mind, and carefully lowered myself off the roof of the building, and onto the roof of the van, before sliding off of  _ that _ and onto the floor of the alleyway.

"Alright, I  _ think _ I've been adequately convinced to get in the van," I said, as the big side door opened, and Dean leaned out. "We just leaving this asshole here, or what?"

"No," Lisa said. "You two cuff him and bring him in here; we've got holding facilities.  _ Anyhow _ , as I was saying  _ earlier, _ you're being hunted for  _ sport _ . Some rich asshole is trying to hunt The Most Dangerous Game."


	2. Chapter 2

"They call themselves the Society of Minos," Lisa explained as we carefully tied down the man who'd briefly run off with me. "They are, in essence, devoted to hunting The Most Dangerous Game, and through some careful intelligence efforts, we've discovered that  _ you _ have been marked as the target of one of their hunts."

"He's tied down, now, and not going anywhere," I said. "You can start us moving, now."

"I'm gonna go through a carwash real quick, get his blood off our fenders," Lisa muttered, starting the van moving. Dean scrambled back for his seat, and I started looking for something, anything, to hold onto, and eventually settled on a loop of some sort of broad, flat rubbery stuff, like you'd see on a subway or a bus. "Anyhow! The Society of Minos. Their standard procedure is to kidnap their targets and relocate them to a wilderness area, on the basis that it's only  _ sporting _ to hunt prey that knows it's being hunted.  _ But _ , because they  _ also _ have a standard procedure of only hunting the prey that'd be the most challenging and wily, they've got procedures in place for hunting prey that resists being relocated."

"And, I presume, so does Aeon?" I asked.

"And, also, the PRT," Dean said. "Their track record of protective custody for Minoan victims is... discouraging."

"Discouraging, he says," Lisa said. " _ Seventy percent failure rate _ , I think, is a little worse than merely  _ discouraging _ .  _ Aeon _ , however, has a  _ success _ rate of seventy percent."

"So I'm being hunted by someone with a lot of resources and expertise in hunting people," I said. "What's Aeon's plan, exactly?"

"We get you to an Aeon safehouse in another city, with the use of some teleporters.  _ Then _ , we contact a group called the Theseus Club, who were started specifically to hunt and kill the Society of Minos, and work with them to kill off the Minoan who's hunting you."

"Hang the fuck on," I said. "If Aeon has fucking  _ teleporters _ , how come my rescuers were  _ two teenagers with a van? _ "

"Excuse you, but I turned twenty three months ago," Dean protested.

"I've asked that myself, and apparently teleporters have limited energy to teleport  _ with _ , and can't just do it willy-nilly," Lisa said.

"Bullshit, Strider teleports like a hundred times a day, and the only limit to it is his  _ patience _ ," I said.

"Aeon's teleporters are different," Dean said. "That's about all we can really say. Aeon's got its own secrets to protect, and we have a policy against recruiting people while we're actively saving their lives; it would create some bad incentives."

"So instead you're going to whisk me away from home and keep me in the dark," I said flatly, folding my arms. "Yeah, I feel  _ real _ safe."

"Hey, we let you keep your gun, didn't we?" Dean asked, as Lisa pulled us into a gas station, passing by the pumps.

"Probably because you know that if you tried to separate me from it, I'd shoot you."

"He's got us there," Lisa said. "That and it's Aeon standard procedure that the target is to stay armed and armored at all times. So, y'know. Take your pick." She pulled the van up to the station's automatic car wash, rolled down the window to punch some buttons and put in a few quarters, then rolled it back up as she pulled forward into the car wash.

"Wait, really? Why the fuck is that?"

"Because Minoans pick prey they're pretty sure is able to fight back," Lisa said. "So we arm you and armor you to enhance your ability to, should worst come to worst, put the Minoan down yourself."

"...Alright, fair enough," I muttered. "So, question. What's our plan for if Shitbag back here wakes up and breaks loose?"

Lisa reached over across Dean's lap and opened up the glovebox, pulling out a weird-looking purple pistol, and handed it to me butt-first. "That's an Aeon super-tech taser. Shoot him with that a few times if he starts moving."

"So, do you take tips, or do you have a pet charity I can donate to, or..." I turned the pistol in my hands; it  _ felt _ right, somehow. It was, genuinely, a  _ very _ nice piece of equipment.

"Careful," Dean said. "If you inflate her ego too much, she won't fit in the driver's seat anymore. But-" He carefully got up and out of his seat, and walked into the back of the van with me. "-this raises an important point. We should  _ probably _ start interrogating this guy."

"How are we supposed to do that, point a gun at him and tell him to start talking?" I asked, already pulling out my own gun.

"No, and put that away," Dean said. "Intimidation isn't very good at extracting  _ reliable _ information. Like torture, people will say whatever just to make it stop. What  _ we're _ going to do-"

"What  _ you're _ going to do," Lisa corrected.

"Yes. What  _ I'm _ going to do is  _ much _ more likely to work," Dean said, kneeling beside the tied-up man as Lisa gently pulled us out of the car wash and into a nearby parking space. His voice changed, subtly but recognizably, as though he were talking to a computer.  **"Wake up."** The man's eyes snapped open, and he groaned.  **"Tell me your name."**

"Joshua Crete," the man said quietly, still audibly in pain.

**"Tell me who hired you."**

"A man in shades and a suit calling himself Mister Johnson," Crete said. "Probably wasn't his real name."

"Shit," Lisa muttered.

"Hang on, is this mind-control?" I asked. "Are you a fucking  _ mind-controller? _ "

"I am a  _ telepath _ , and the  _ technical _ term for what I'm doing is  _ psychbending _ ," Dean said in his normal voice, before switching back to his psychbending voice.  **"Tell us anything you know that you think we would want to."**

"I've got a tracker on me," Crete said, and immediately everyone else in the van inhaled sharply through their teeth. "My partner's gonna come looking once they realize something's u-"

The van lurched as it was picked up off the ground, and Dean yelped as he lost his footing, nearly knocking me over as he flailed around. The van tilted, and I shoved Dean towards one of the ceiling-mounted handholds as the front end lifted up higher and higher, until we were closer to vertical than horizontal.

The back doors ripped open, and Crete fell out, being caught by invisible hands. Standing there, in a suit of armor that looked like it was grown around her in some sort of beetle-cloning vat, was a pale woman with red hair, freckles, and perhaps the most unpleasant facial expression I've ever seen on another human person.

Wordlessly, I shot her with the taser Lisa had given me. The resulting lightning bolt splashed and fizzled out against a forcefield around her that had previously been invisible.

Shit.

**"Put us down,"** Dean ordered in his psychbending voice, and the woman's eyes went vacant as she did so, setting the van back down on the ground. As soon as she did, though, her eyes returned to normal, and she scowled at him. Before he could say anything else, she pointed at him wordlessly, and telekinetically threw him back against Lisa, ripping the driver seat out of the floor of the van in the process and driving them through the windshield, the dashboard, and into the wire fence behind them, where they  _ finally  _ came to a stop, covered in tiny cuts. No great big gushes of blood, so...  _ provisionally _ okay, but also, their van was wrecked, and I wasn't expecting them to get back up quick enough to help.

"Catch," I said, yanking off my jacket and throwing it in the woman's face, already darting around it and her, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small spool of paracord, unspooling enough to wrap around her neck as I passed, before crossing the ends over each other and  _ pulling _ . "Oh, joy, your forcefield doesn't stop slow and steady, just fast stuff," I said, while she audibly choked on the makeshift garrotte, fingers going to her neck to try and pry the paracord up. "None of that," I muttered, looping the spool end of the paracord around her neck again, above where her fingers were prying up the cord. Now, she was just pulling the  _ other _ loop  _ even tighter _ against her throat.

She came up with a better plan, unfortunately, and telekinetically punched me in the throat, loosening my grip on the paracord, before telekinetically punching me about as hard as she'd punched Dean, sending me flying across the gas station parking lot. I landed in a tumble, rolling and bleeding off momentum, but still managed to pick up some rather painful road rash. Adding insult to injury, my goddamn glasses fell off, too.

She turned to face me and wordlessly tossed the paracord aside as I rubbed at my throat. "Jeez, you ever shut up, chatterbox?" I asked.

She wordlessly picked me up and slammed me, back-first, into the ground. Pain spiked through my body like nails through a two-by-four, and I made a choked, gurgling noise.

"Someone's... mad I found her weakness..." I said through gritted teeth, as she lifted me up again and drew me closer, until the two of us were nearly face to face. I glanced behind her, and grinned. She scowled at me some more. "What, not falling for that trick? What makes you think it's a  _ trick? _ Besides, what's the worst I can do to you like this? You've got my arms pinned." She folded her arms impassively, quirking an eyebrow. "C'mon, I'm a talker, you gotta give me  _ something _ to work with, here."

Still, she didn't talk, and I glanced at her partner, who was slowly extricating himself from the ropes; he was, apparently, made of fairly stern stuff, and probably also regenerated  _ very _ quickly. Apparently, she was waiting on him.

"You know, it'd go faster if you helped him," I said. She wordlessly flipped me off. "Ah, don't trust me not to pull something. I'd ask why everyone seemed to have such an inflated sense of my abilities, but considering the day I've had, I guess I see where you're coming from." She clenched her fist, and I felt a  _ very _ painful squeeze around my still-sore stomach; I sure hope I got to see a doctor after this.

"She wants you to shut up," Crete said, shakily picking himself back up to his feet.

"Ah, I see." I nodded to him, then turned back to face the telekinetic.

Then I spat in her eye.

She released a wordless shout of rage, squeezing me again, then suddenly stopping as Dean shot Crete in the back with the taser, and Lisa started to garotte her with the paracord again.

"Little help, here?" Lisa asked, struggling against the carapace-armored redhead.

"No, both of you  **stop** ," Dean said, putting on his psychbending voice for that last word. Lisa released the telekinetic, and the telekinetic stopped struggling.  **"** **_You_ ** **, come with us,"** he continued, not letting the telekinetic make her next move.  **"Pick up your partner, he's coming too."** He turned to face Lisa, and dropped his psych-bending voice. "Lisa, you mind calling Aeon and getting an emergency teleport over here? I think this warrants that."

"And while she does that, do  _ you _ mind cutting me in on what the hell's going on?" I asked. "Even  _ if _ it's on a need-to-know basis, I think my  _ life  _ being on the line establishes a pretty  _ fucking _ compelling need."

"Look, Ro-" Dean began.

" _ You _ make that call to Aeon," Lisa said. "Rose, first and foremost,  _ nobody _ here is a parahuman."

"I shot Crete in the face three times and didn't even mess up his fucking hair," I said flatly.

"Lisa-" Dean began.

" _ You make that fucking call _ ," she said, nearly jabbing Dean in the eye with her finger, making him flinch back. " _ Anyways _ , there's  _ other _ kinds of superhuman that most people, even parahumans and the PRT, aren't aware exist. Crete's what's called a Superior- their powers are restricted to enhancing their own native abilities. Stuff like super-strength, super-senses, super-smarts, but  _ no _ flight or lasers or anything like that. Dean and Beetle Bitch here are both Psions, of which there are eight specialties; once you pick one, you're locked in permanently. She's a Psychokinetic, and  _ he _ is a Telepath."

"And... you and I?" I asked quietly. "I'm starting to cotton onto the fact that I'm not a normal human; a normal human probably wouldn't've escaped the trunk of that car, let alone beaten a Superior and a Psychokinetic in a straight-ish fight."

"You and I both are  _ Talents _ ," Lisa said. "We  _ look _ like normal humans- lucky and skilled humans, but humans nonetheless. But all of us have the same subtle power- we make our  _ own _ luck. Every risky gamble that pays off, every improbable stunt, if you do anything more challenging than opening a door, chances are you're drawing, however slightly, on this luck."

I sighed, closing my eyes. Of  _ course _ I wasn't human anymore. After what happened all those years ago... well, I'd remarked to my therapist that I was disappointed it apparently wasn't bad enough to get a trigger event, but apparently, after a fashion, I  _ had _ .

"And whoever's marked you for hunting  _ knows _ that," Lisa continued. "The victims of Minoan hunts are diverse, but one common thread is that almost  _ all _ of them are Talents."

"Aeon said all their teleporters are busy, and we're gonna have to wait for alternate transportation," Dean said, putting his phone away.

I inhaled deeply and slowly, eyes closed. Then I opened them, tilted my head back, and opened my mouth.

" _ FUCK! _ "


	3. Chapter 3

"Restraining a psychokinetic is... impractical," Dean said, as he and Lisa worked to salvage things from the van. I'd gathered the remainder of the rope, and tied Crete's forearms together behind his back. "Psychbending will only last for so long."

"I don't suppose the two of you could be convinced that you've lost fair and square, and that chasing this bounty any further will just force us to outright  _ kill _ you, right?" I asked, staring Crete down.

" _ I _ might, but Siobhan... will  _ not _ take this loss particularly well," Crete said.

"Oh,  _ that's _ her name," I said. "Good, I kept having to call her 'the telekinetic' or 'the redhead' in my head, it was getting annoying. What's her deal, anyhow, why doesn't she talk?"

"An old throat injury," Crete said flatly.

"...Oh, so she's  _ really _ pissed at me for garotting her, isn't she," I said.

"And for making fun of her muteness, yes," Crete said, nodding sagely. "You're kind of a dick, aren't you?"

"You tried to kidnap me less than an hour ago."

"Sure, but at least I wasn't  _ rude _ about it."

"You called me the wrong name."

"Oh, you're one of  _ those _ ," Crete muttered. "Damn kids..."

"Yeah, yeah, keep it up and I'll demonstrate with Mister Tire Iron-"

"That's not a tire iron," Crete interrupted. "That's a lug wrench."

"It's a fucking tire iron," I said.

"People  _ call _ it a tire iron, but-"

"But  _ nothing _ . Go fuck a dictionary. Words mean whatever the fuck people  _ use _ them to mean, that's how language fucking  _ works _ . There's contexts in which insisting on standardized definitions is  _ reasonable _ , but-"

"Not that this isn't  _ riveting _ , but shut the fuck up, please," Lisa said, returning to the back of the van with a small glass bottle of something clear in her hand. "Hold this." She handed the bottle to Siobhan, and Dean joined us. "Alright, Dean, you ready?"

"Yep," Dean said, nodding.  **"Drink the whole bottle."** Siobhan obeyed, and then a few seconds later she swayed on her feet, before falling over. "Diethyl ether. Generally one of the safer anesthetics, but as always, drugging strangers is a big risk, because you have  _ no _ idea what medications they're on. However, right this moment, I'm not personally inclined to make a huge fuss over her health and safety. Rose, please tie these two reprobates together. Since you seem so... weirdly good at that. Where did you learn that, anyhow? Boy Scouts?"

"I have a bondage fetish," I said, already pulling Siobhan's forearms behind her back. The armor made it trickier, but not  _ that _ much trickier.

"I  _ thought _ those knots felt familiar," Crete said.

"Oh. Well. I don't think I needed or wanted to know either of those things," Dean said, frowning. "Anyhow... Ahem.  **Tell us how you found Rose the first time.** "

"Phone call," Crete said. "I got directions from Mr. Johnson."

**"Give me your pho-** er, uh-  **tell me where your phone is."**

"Realized his hands were literally tied, didn't you," Lisa said smugly while I fished Crete's phone out of his pocket. I tossed it to her, and she caught it adroitly. "Anyhow, we can just make Crete carry his partner off, if we just wanna get rid of him. He's admitted to being willing to let the bounty go."

"He'd probably say anything if he thought it got him closer to payday," I said.

"I've already made arrangements," Dean said. "Glory Girl and Panacea will be here soon, and will be taking them off our hands, as well as tending to our many,  _ many _ wounds."

"Oh. Well, alright then," I said, before looping a line between Siobhan's bindings and Crete's, and pulling it tight, drawing the two of them closer together. "So, after that..."

"After that, Dean's going to stay here, and the two of  _ us _ are going to head for a nearby Aeon bolthole," Lisa explained. "Where we're going to hack this here phone, try and trace a phone call... oh, and also, take a few showers and put on clean clothes, because good  _ lord _ we are covered in blood."

"You know what, I think I rather like the sound of that," I said.

\---

"Any luck?" I asked as I stepped out of the bathroom. This Aeon bolthole was, in fact, just an ordinary-ish apartment, stocked with some useful but not  _ unusual _ things. I'd gotten my coat acceptably clean-ish, and restocked some of its pockets with miscellaneous shit I found lying around that I was  _ reasonably _ sure I was supposed to take with me.

"None at all," Lisa said. " _ This _ is all  _ skill _ . The Minoan hunting you for sport is Victor, from Empire 88. A Parahuman, more specifically a Thinker who steals skills. It's likely that he's hunting  _ you _ because you've got a skill he wants to steal... or because he figures you  _ must _ have a skill he'd want to steal."

"I see, I see," I said. "Hey, does this bolt hole have any weapons? I'm finding myself somewhat disappointed with that Aeon taser you gave me that was outperformed by a glorified shoelace."

"There should be something in that room right there," Lisa said, pointing at a door. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Well, first and foremost, some fucking  _ armor _ ," I said, opening the door and walking through. "I'm kinda sick of getting the shit kicked out of me."

"Ah, you're in luck, then," Lisa said, standing up and following after me. "You might've noticed how Dean and I were only  _ mildly _ injured by being thrown through the front half of a van- the secret to  _ that _ is Aeon's special Bioweave Armor. Goes directly on the skin, and it'll stop a bullet, a knife, and even a surprising amount of blunt force trauma, thanks to some clever non-newtonian interstitial fluids."

"I suppose Superiors don't easily generate such interstitial fluids themselves, then," I said. "Crete took three bullets without flinching, but one swing of a tire iron was enough to knock him on his ass."

"Huh. That's... new information," Lisa said.

"I'm a little curious what you thought happened between us earlier, but I think right  _ now _ I want to know where the Bioweave is."

"Right over there, but it has to be applied directly to the skin. Lemme give you some privacy."

"And where might I find, say, an inventory sheet listing what the hell all this stuff is?"

"Third cabinet from the left."

"Thanks."

\---

"So, anything interesting happen in the last two minutes?" I asked, stepping out of the apartment armory, having replaced my coat- which still held great sentimental value- with a miraculously high-tech shape-shifting armored jacket that, with a little prompting, could be made to look exactly like my normal jacket.

"I alerted Aeon and the Theseus Club of  _ who _ , exactly, they're hunting right now," Lisa said, not looking up from her laptop. "Haven't heard back from them yet. Why do you as- where the  _ fuck _ did you find that?"

"What, this little thing?" I asked, glancing at my right hand, which was inside an orange gauntlet. "It was on the inventory sheet. Said it was a Psycholocation gauntlet, and then after I found out what Psycholocation  _ was _ , I reckoned this would be  _ very _ useful for hunting Victor down and turning his insides into outsides. You in?"

"No I am  _ not _ , and neither are  _ you _ ," Lisa said. "You take that off and put that back; we are  _ not _ going out looking for a fight."

"Look, I've got shit to do," I said. "I simply do not have the  _ time _ to hunker down and wait for Aeon to get its ass in gear and solve this problem for me. I'm going hunting, and I'm going with or without you."

Lisa stared evenly, gears turning in her head. Finally, it seemed, she'd come to a conclusion.

"The Theseus Club pays out a million dollar bounty to whoever manages to bag a Minoan," Lisa said. "I'll come with you  _ if _ you split the bounty with me fifty-fifty."

"You get ten percent."

"Fuck off."

"Ten percent of a million dollars is still more money than the average American household makes in a year. It is a  _ lot _ of money."

"I am  _ not _ ferrying your ass around for a measley  _ ten percent _ ."

"Yeah, well, it's not  _ your _ neck in the noose. Ten percent, take it or leave it."

\---

"This was a horrible idea," Lisa muttered. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

"Because I've got a surprisingly forceful personality  _ and _ the promise of a hundred grand with your name on it," I said with a shrug. We were standing in an alleyway, having gotten there by bus. The ground was somewhat clean; this place saw enough use, probably from the mundane business of the bar regularly throwing shit out into the dumpster. "Now, scans show he's inside this bar, so-"

"Oh  _ shit _ ."

I turned to face where she was looking, and the blood drained from my face. Right, I'd only checked where  _ Victor _ was, and the idea of scanning to figure out if he was near, say...  _ Hookwolf _ simply hadn't occurred to me.

I wordlessly opened my coat, drawing the Aeon laser carbine and firing at Hookwolf. My luck held out, in that I didn't miss; however, aside from exposing a big, nasty mess of metal blades under a thin layer of flesh, I'd managed to actually  _ accomplish  _ vanishingly little.

"Cute," Hookwolf said, folding his arms, before rushing forward in a burst of speed. I raised my right hand to shoot him again, this time aiming for the eyes, but before I could get a shot off, he grabbed me by the forearm with one hand, and around the waist with the other arm, and with a spray of blood and a hideous ripping sound, separated me from my right hand, as he carried me off, barrelling over Lisa- who'd managed to get in her own shots at Hookwolf, but accomplished as much as I had.

He lept up onto the roof, like Crete had earlier, but with my dominant hand gone, and Hookwolf's durability being more than skin deep, I didn't have much chance of escape. My vision slowly went black as I bled from my stump, growing less and less aware of my surroundings.

The last thing I heard was a man- who probably wasn't Hookwolf, but I can't be sure- chuckling.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah, and he's finally awake!"

" _ She _ ," I said, opening my eyes and struggling against my bonds. Apparently, once again, I was tied up... this time, though, to a wooden chair.

"Ah, yes, you're one of  _ those _ ," the man I couldn't see said. Presumably it was Victor, but I couldn't be entirely sure, what with the Psycholocation gauntlet having been taken off with my hand. Which- yes, was still missing. "Well! Nevermind all that. As I'm sure you're aware by now, my name is Victor, and tonight, I would like to hunt the most dangerous game."

" _ Surely  _ you're aware that this sort of thing, historically, does not end  _ well _ for the hunter, correct?" I asked, testing my bonds and looking around. The warehouse I found myself in the middle of was dark and unlit but by starlight through the high, narrow windows, with grime, dust, broken and rotten crates, and the odd smatter of broken glass scattered around. This place was run-down and abandoned; nobody'd used it for anything resembling a legitimate purpose in years.

"Everyone dies of something," Victor said, starting to pace, evident by bootfalls upon hard concrete. "For myself... I always wanted my death to  _ mean _ something. To be the climactic end of a story, rather than just the bizarre, random chance it is for most people. And that, you'll find, is a courtesy I extend to  _ all _ of my prey." He circled around to in front of me. "I don't  _ just _ want the thrill of a sporting hunt. I want the chance at a death that  _ means _ something. A death with  _ honor _ ."

"Let me out of these fucking ropes, and I'll see what I can do for you," I said, having already slipped my stumpy forearm out of the ropes and used the slack to free my left hand. Fucking amateur, didn't even tie my ankles.

"No, no, it has to be an  _ earned _ death," Victor said. "I can't just  _ let _ you win, you have to  _ best _ me. But, at the same time-"

I stood up and rushed him, the chair held firmly in my left hand. I stopped on a dime, throwing all of my energy into the chair as I spun it around, clocking Victor solidly in the head, sending him tumbling and rolling across the filthy concrete floor.

"But god  _ damn _ do you like to hear yourself talk," I muttered, already turning and running into the shadows as he struggled to recover. I could tell I wouldn't have enough time to wind up the chair for another swing before he got back up, and I wasn't confident in my chances of breaking his neck with one hand and no idea how to actually go about snapping someone's neck with my bare hands. I'd have to look that up, one day. He  _ did _ have a sword on him I could've taken, but... no, trying to take a sword strapped to someone else's body seemed like a bad idea, right now, since I was stuck with only my left hand.

"Hnn. Good hit," Victor said, picking himself up. "Guilty as charged, I suppose. But, come on. Listen to me. Don't  _ you _ want to hear myself talk, too?"

"You sound like a muppet choking on a shark," I said.

"Oooh, kitten's got  _ claws _ ," Victor said, casting his gaze about the darkened warehouse while standing in one of the only light-ish patches, apparently unable to tell where I'd gone. Not that I trusted that; he had two ears and a brain, and he'd baited me into talking. I'd have to quit that, it's giving me away. "Hm... Too dark in here. And, frankly, too  _ boring _ . What say we spice things up a little?" He pulled a zippo lighter out of a belt pouch, flicking it open one-handed and then sparking it to life. Glancing around in the new light, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of jerrycans, which did  _ not _ look cobwebbed and dilapidated and old. In fact, they looked like someone had put them there this morning.

He tossed the zippo into one cluster of jerrycans, and within moments, the plastic melted and there was an eruption of flame that quickly spread, the warehouse lighting up with bright yet flickering light. The flame spread like fire tended to do, until within seconds it seemed like the whole warehouse was lit with flame.

Seemed. The flames were bright, but fire wasn't a very good source of illumination, and besides that, there was  _ plenty _ of obscuring cover to hide behind.

"Now  _ this _ ," Victor said, chuckling. " _ This _ is climactic! Don't bother trying the doors, I've locked and barred them from the outside. One of us dies here tonight."

I kept my mouth shut, doing my best to silently prowl deeper into cover, keeping my eyes peeled for something,  _ anything _ that looked like it might be useful.

I spotted a ladder, fully engulfed in the shadows, and trusted in the softness of my soles to dampen my clambering up to the catwalks.

"Now, you may be thinking,  _ why _ would I pick you in particular?" Victor asked, starting to prowl across the flaming warehouse floor like a tiger through the jungle, drawing his sword. It seemed to be some manner of cutlass, I think; it looked single-edged, without coming to the typical narrow point you'd expect of a sword meant for stabbing, and wasn't the right amount of curved for me to assume it was some sort of scimitar or katana. Not that such a proud, aryan man would sully his hands on such inferior, non-white weaponry. Or, actually, hang on. How  _ does _ Japan fit into the Nazi worldview? Considering that- actually fuck this, I don't actually want to know. "I mean,  _ clearly _ it's not because of your degeneracy- we weren't even  _ aware _ you liked pretending to be a girl until today! No, no, see, it's because I've developed a gadget that I'm testing out."

I stalked silently along the catwalks, trusting in that thing I'd heard and read constantly, but had no idea if it was true: supposedly, people never looked up.

"Now, one of the  _ big deals _ about Talents, which is what you and I are-" Hang the fuck on, Victor was a  _ Talent? _ That... did kinda fit with him being perceived as a skill thief, I guess. Kinda. "-is that we simply  _ cannot _ be detected. Capes, Psions, Superiors, those all have almost the same brain structure in the same place that can be detected with an MRI. Talents, though, you just gotta... know it when you see it, and live with the fact that, hey, you  _ might _ be wrong, and the person is, in fact, just exceptionally lucky and skilled.

"But! Not any more! With my new handy-dandy flux-scanner, I can pinpoint where any Talent in the city is at any time! I stayed away from Aeon's Talents- Aeon has a nasty tendency to shuffle those around when things get squirrely, which is so  _ very _ unsporting. You, though... As far as any of us could tell,  _ you _ were on your lonesome."

"Not any longer," I said, directly above him, and trying to direct my voice off to the side, farther away from me and the ladder that'd gotten me up here. "That's the trouble, isn't it? Aeon'll get involved  _ anyways _ , and now they know to be looking for you  _ and _ me. Think how easily  _ I _ managed to find you with just some random shit Aeon left laying around in an apartment, and then think about how easy a time Aeon will have with it, once they wake up their clairvoyants."

"Funny you should mention that," Victor said, turning and following where he seemed to think my voice was coming from. "Did you know that you can quite trivially  _ block _ clairvoyance with a common black-market gadget called a null field generator? They  _ might _ find this place,  _ if _ I left the null field up for a month and they realized they couldn't see anything in here in particular, but... well, a month?"

"Then, when I found you..."

"That was because I  _ let _ you find me," Victor said. "A hunter such as myself understands the value of laying traps."

That gave me an idea, one I immediately bolted off in pursuit of. Carefully, so as to not give away my position in the catwalks up above. I wiped my forehead, realizing that it was  _ alarmingly  _ hot in here, and that, for all that fire wasn't great as a source of light, it was  _ vigorously _ enthusiastic at providing heat.

"Of course, traps are, themselves, somewhat unsporting," Victor continued. I only half-listened to him, descending another ladder and beginning to cast around for something, anything, I could use to lay a trap with. I  _ did _ find a sledgehammer, which I memorized the location of, but left there; it'd be too cumbersome for me to carry with only one usable hand. I continued the search, idly rifling through my pockets for anything useful he'd neglected to remove. "Which is why I do catch and release- I had you dead to rights when you came for me, but that would've been  _ boring _ ."

Poor baby. I found... a crate full of old flat-pack furniture. That could prove  _ somewhat _ useful. I found a coat stand among them, and grinned. That would  _ definitely _ be useful. Slowly, carefully, and  _ silently _ , I pulled it out of the crate, and began to assemble the metal tubes and injection-molded plastic. As flat-pack furniture went, it was disappointingly simple to put together, but perhaps maybe now wasn't the time to sit down with a nice, long, engaging Ikea dining chair assembly.

I set the coat stand up, and took off the armored jacket I'd borrowed from Aeon, putting it on the coat stand, and then continued my search.

Another crate revealed itself to be full of garden tools- rakes, hoes, shovels, et cetera. I briefly considered setting up a rake as a trap, but then discarded the idea; I was dealing with a Nazi supervillain, not Sideshow Bob. Still, I  _ did _ take a shovel, and slipped it into the jacket, providing a head to the silhouette.

Finally, behind a box of rat traps, I found something  _ useful _ . Something sharp, purpose-built, and  _ deadly _ . I grinned, carefully setting it up exactly where I wanted it- moving it after the fact would be dangerous and noisy. Then, finally, all that was left was to provide the bait.

"What's the matter?" Victor said, continuing his fruitless search, going completely the wrong way around the blazing warehouse. "Cat got your tongue?"

"No, I was just wondering if you'd get bored and shut up if I quit responding," I said, standing near my decoy, making no more effort to hide my voice. "Clearly, though, it didn't work. I suppose I was right earlier- you really do just  _ love _ to hear yourself talk. Which only makes one of us."

"You sure do love to harp on how bad my voice apparently sounds," Victor said, stalking my way. I carefully, silently retreated, leaving my decoy and trap behind. "What, were you in choir in high school or something?"

"I took a single Theater class in Middle School, actually," I said, trying to deepen my voice and draw out its best qualities. "Where I began to hone my voice into this  _ marvelous _ , velvety instrument caressing the depths of your ear canals right this moment."

"...I'll admit to this much, that  _ is _ a very lovely voice," Victor said. "I don't suppose you'd agree to a truce while you perform something?"

"Do you think me an idiot?"

"Well,  _ somewhat _ ," Victor said, as rounded the corner of the pile of crates my decoy was behind...

...and stepped  _ right _ in the middle of the nastiest-looking bear trap I'd ever seen, which immediately snapped closed around his leg in a horrible crunching noise. He screamed as he fell, his sword falling from his grasp as he curled in on himself.

I stepped out of the shadows and kicked the sword out of reach; Victor uncurled just enough to look up and meet my gaze, his eyes now full of fear. "Who's the idiot  _ now? _ " I asked.

"Killing me won't end this," Victor said, in a quiet and pained voice. "Please, spare me and I'll make sure the others know you're not to be bothered.  _ Otherwise _ , the other Minoans  _ will _ come for you."

Wordlessly, I hefted the sledgehammer onto my shoulder.

"No, please! Mercy!  _ Mer- _ "


	5. Chapter 5

Rose and Lisa were both alive, and Victor was dead, and that was just about the  _ only _ thing  _ anyone _ at Aeon was happy about.

"Y'know, it could be worse," Rose said, glancing at her right hand to reassure herself it was still there, and that she wouldn't be stuck learning how to do everything left-handed. The two of them were sitting in an Aeon waiting room, which was well-appointed, very comfortable, and had only a single door to get in or out of it.

"How?" Lisa asked, scowling. She'd been thoroughly chewed out for several breaches in fairly important Aeon protocols- extorting bribe money from a civilian was one of them, organizing this mission on her own without oversight(Rose had been surprised, but not very, by this news), and most importantly, telling Rose that she was a Talent.

Apparently, it was a well-known phenomenon that when a Talent first discovered their nature, they had an alarming tendency to do indescribably stupid things, with the unjustified confidence that being a Talent meant nothing bad could ever happen to you again.

This had been explained at length by a fifty seven year old Talent in a wheelchair, who had some very passionate opinions on the subject.

"We could've died," Rose said.

"Then we wouldn't have had to sit through these lectures," Lisa said.

"Ah, fair, fair. Guess it's a wash, then."

"Mm."

"...Well, Victor's dead, at least."

"That's something. How do you feel about that?"

"Honestly?" Rose said. "It is  _ too goddamn late _ for me to be feeling  _ anything _ but tired. I want to go to bed."

"...It's not even midnight."

" _ I have had a long day _ ."

Lisa shrugged, conceding that particular point.

"...Am I still on the hook for that ten percent I promised you?" Rose asked after a minute's silence.

"Legally, I am required to say no."

"Cool."

\---

"Hey, Rose," Dean said as he walked into the waiting room. "How've you been holding up?"

"Ordinarily, I'd shrug and say I'm alive, but I just got back from the biokinetic's office, and now I've got  _ these _ ," Rose said, looking down.

"...Those sure are boobs alright."

"I know, right? And here I was worried I'd have to get them the  _ hard _ way, through years of regular titty skittles."

"Titty skittles?"

"Y'know, hormone pills. Anyhow, this was  _ way _ more convenient. I just told 'em how big I wanted 'em and now, here they are." Rose sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Gotta get my joy where I can, being under Aeon lockdown."

"Sorry about this whole mess," Dean said. "You never asked for any of this."

"Eh. Least I don't have to go to class. Wonder if 'someone tried to hunt me for sport' will fly as an excused absence with my professor."

"You don't have to put up a front with me, Rose," Dean said. "I'm a telepath."

"Dean, I'm sure that bluff has worked on  _ someone _ , but I am  _ quite _ aware you can't actually read anyone's mind," Rose pointed out. "If you  _ could _ , you would've just read Crete's mind instead of psychbending him into answering questions."

"Heh. Fair enough, I suppose," Dean said. "You're pretty sharp. Have been, as long as I've known you, since way back in high school."

"A lot of people tell me that," Rose said, shrugging. "Usually right before telling me they're disappointed with me, not living up to my potential, yadda yadda bla bla. Get to the point."

"What made you hare off after Victor like that?" Dean asked.

"Well, you see, Deaniel," Rose began. "I was  _ very _ pissed off.  _ Indescribably _ pissed. I was getting tired, I was hopped up on the adrenaline of three consecutive kidnapping attempts, and I'd just been informed that hey, maybe I  _ was _ in fact a bad enough dude." Rose shrugged. "I will confess to having made, perhaps, a few poor decisions."

"One or two," Dean said, nodding.

"If it makes you and the higher-ups feel better, I have lost all desire to do anything even  _ remotely _ exciting for the rest of my life," Rose said. "If Aeon has a desire to relocate me to some remote nowhere station in the middle of nowhere just to keep me out of anything dangerous, I am  _ one hundred percent on board with that _ ."

"Oh, Aeon wants you nowhere  _ near _ any of their stuff," Dean said. "The local deputy director seems to personally dislike you; called you a 'dipshit STEMlord who thinks they're the only person who's ever right or smart.'"

"...today just is  _ not _ a good day for my ego," Rose muttered.

"Oh? You wanna talk about it?" Dean stretched one shoulder, grunting. "Aeon trains its telepaths in counseling, y'know."

"It's stupid as hell, but apparently... people trying to kidnap me, to  _ kill _ me? That's  _ unpleasant _ , sure, and I don't much care for it, but that's something I can deal with. Being told by reasonable authority figures that I'm an incompetent fuckup, though,  _ that's _ what upsets me. I think I'm gonna go crawl into a dark corner somewhere and pass out until today is a distant memory, if you don't mind."

"Ah." Dean swallowed nervously. Some cursory mind-reading informed him that it was as reasonably complete a picture as Rose could put into words- internally, she felt like shit. He'd decided letting her keep her misconceptions about his mind reading capabilities was okay for now; it wasn't good enough to detect anything other than surface thoughts, anyhow. He then decided, after recalling Rose's love of comedy, to lighten the mood with a joke. "...Would it help if I mind controlled you into cheering up?"

"I would hit you with a chair."

"That's fair," Dean admitted. Thankfully, it seemed to have worked; Rose was feeling ever so slightly less like shit now that she had a problem she could punch. He made a mental note to never risk letting Rose and Victoria be anywhere near each other ever again.

"I've done it before, and I'll do it again."

"You've made your point."

"I like to be thorough. Just ask the coroner who had to scrape Victor's head into the bodybag with tortilla chips."

Dean received a direct, visceral memory from Rose of Victor's head being reduced to chunky salsa with a sledgehammer. It was tinged with disgust, pride, and horror; Rose felt empowered by the knowledge that she had what it took to take another person's life, but also horrified by the fact she was proud of it. Not, ultimately, that uncommon of an emotional melange in this context; Dean wasn't too worried she'd turn into a serial killer or anything.

"I don't think I needed that mental image," Dean said after a few moments pause.

\---

"Thank  _ fucking _ christ that's over with," Rose said, flopping onto the floor of her new apartment's living room. She'd been mildly disappointed that Lisa hadn't wanted to help, but also understood perfectly.

"Oh, please, like you had to lift anything even  _ slightly _ heavy," Victoria said, setting the last box down.

"Fuck off," Rose said, too tired to sound like she meant it. "Ugh. Alright, I  _ think _ , customarily, I owe y'all a pizza or something? Or beer? I don't know, I've only really helped sisters and girlfriends move, and I never got compensated for that. I'm playing it by ear."

"Beer would be good-" Victoria began, before Dean cut her off.

" _ If _ we were old enough," Dean said.

"Fucking narc."

"Hey,  _ someone _ has to be the law-abiding wet blanket."

"Someone  _ doesn't _ , is the thing," Victoria said.

"Pizza is fine, Rose," Amy said.

"Any dietary restrictions I should be aware of?" Rose asked, still facedown on the floor.

"Amy's lactose intolerant," Dean said.

"Do I  _ look _ like a coward to you?" Amy asked, folding her arms. "I can handle a little cheese."

"I'll order cheeseless just to be safe," Rose said.

"No, fuck you. Put cheese on it," Amy said. "Cheeseless pizza is an abomination."

"Amy," Vicky said warningly.

"It's her guts," Rose said, rolling onto her back and pulling out her phone. "Any opinions on toppings?"

"Pineapple," Vicky said immediately, to a chorus of groans. "You're all just mad that  _ I _ have good taste."

"Fine, we'll get you a second one with pineapple on it," Rose said. "Anyone  _ else _ got something to add?"

"Oh, uh. I keep kosher, so... no pork,  _ and _ I can't have meat with dairy," Dean said.

"Urgh. Time out." Rose got up, and began digging through her suitcase, before producing a laptop. "Alright, I guess we have to make a fucking pizza spreadsheet."

After another half-hour of amiable bickering and byplay, interrupted only by a phone call to a local place, everyone was lounging around Rose's barren new apartment, munching on pizza and drinking either Sprite or southern-style sweet tea. There had been an extended argument over what soda to order with the pizza, featuring accusations that Dr. Pepper's Ph.D. was in tasting like shit.

"Y'know, despite the fact that I never,  _ ever _ want to do anything like the last few days ever again," Rose said, "I think I'm glad it happened just this once."

"Aw, that's sw-" Vicky began, interrupted by Amy's stomach rumbling, followed by Amy rushing off to the bathroom. "Aaaaaand there we go."

"Where's the  _ fucking _ toilet paper?!" Amy yelled from inside the bathroom, the door already shut.

"How about now, still glad?" Dean asked, glancing at Rose.

"...A little less so, but yes," Rose said.


End file.
